It's irritating. This sensation of bitterness that flickers across my mind. My, what tangible scars you have streaked haphazardly within you! I feel as if my own imagination is mocking me. It's easy. It's a sure thing. To talk to you. And miss the taste of you. Crave the embrace your soul wrought for me. What was that again … faith … trust? No. Thats not right. Im sure it's not as easy as that. To label it. Mar it with superficial tendencies.
Come back. I miss you.
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